We Could Have Years
by Cyrillen
Summary: Twoshot, because of my newlyfound rabid fans. An alternate scene at the Yule Ball. GWHP. Rated for mild language.
1. Chapter 1

She inhaled a deep breath, ignoring that the air she breathed was hot and smelled like sweat. The room was packed; she could hardly see to the other wall. Red hair sticking to her neck like fur, Ginny moved across the Great Hall's floor, unconsciously swaying in time to the music. Her eyes locked on a single face, she could hear her own breath, sighing in and out through aggravated nostrils. Hermione was at her side, pushing Ginny to move faster, hastening them both across the room. Ginny didn't want to take another step, because it divided the amount of attention she could give to watching his face.

"Oh, my god, Hermione, I can't do this," breathed Ginny. She felt Hermione's hand on her shoulder, steering her the right direction. Firm. A guide. This is what she needed.

"Yes, Ginny, you can. Come on. You like him? You want to dance with him, right?" Hermione asked. Not questioning her desire, of course, nor getting ground to break to Ginny that Harry wouldn't want to dance with her, just persuading her not to think the less of herself. After all, Hermione was Harry's best friend, or one of the two. She'd know, with absolute certainty, whether or not Harry would want to dance with Ginny. This is why I didn't ask Ron to help me, thought Ginny. He would have balked. There's not a chance in hell my brother would let me dance with his best friend.

"Of course I do, Hermione! It's just I don't want to have him say no."

"If you ask him, he won't say no. He has no reason!"

"So he'll be dancing with me because he has no excuse not too? I'm going back."

"No, you aren't, Ginny. I'm here. Moral support. Come on."

Ginny, walking a few more steps, stopped. She was facing the back of Harry's head, and she stared past that, noticing that Ron was mere feet away, and she was frozen, unable to simply lean forward and tap Harry's left shoulder. "Harry," she croaked. Then Ginny realized that she hadn't made a sound. She had simply whispered his name under her breath. She wished that Harry would just turn around and grab her hands. That would make it so much easier. To dance with him, without stumbling through the awkward stage of asking. Because asking Harry meant that he could choose the word no. Because asking Harry meant that she wanted to know what he thought, and if he didn't think what she wanted him to, this would be a disaster.

So Hermione did it for her. Took Harry's arm and said something in his ear. Harry turned around, an amazed look on his face. "Hey, Ginny."

"Harry . . . would you dance with me?"

He didn't even hesitate. Moving slightly further away from the group of boys he was hanging around with, Harry grabbed both her hands. Ginny felt a delighted smile covering her face. She heard him say, in his smooth, deep voice, "I'd love to!"

And so they danced.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry broke away from swaying in unison with Ginny, and with the hand he'd held at her waist he clasped her hand. He led Ginny away from the mass of dancers. With her peripheral vision, Ginny could see Hermione, looking excited and happy. A slow smile tugged at the corners of Ginny's mouth. She grinned at Hermione, and then was whisked away by Harry. He walked in tandem with Ginny, out into more breathable air. They took a seat at a silver table in a corner of the ballroom. Everything was silver and white, a beautiful illusion of snow. Now that they were away from the dance floor, Ginny noticed that the ballroom smelled like mint. Harry was holding one of her hands.

There were silver utensils, silver napkins at her left. She was sitting on a silver chair, sitting like a queen on her throne. "Ginny, I loved dancing with you." Harry told her, frankly. She was surprised, because she had never heard anyone speak like that before; sweet words in such an honest voice it could have been brutal. She was almost too surprised to blush, but she managed.

"Oh, me too. You're a good dancer," replied Ginny, looking down at their hands. "I – I don't want to say this wrong – Harry. I – can I tell you something?"

"Tell me anything." When he said it, it felt almost like a promise.

"I love everything about you," she said to him. "I love you!" She felt her knees trembling beneath the fabric of her blue dress, pale like a winter branch. It was snow-colored, too.

"Ginny, can I tell – tell you something?" Harry asked, looking curiously at her face. Inside her head, Ginny felt remarkably calm.

"Yeah, tell me anything." She felt his grip tighten on her hand, and she moved her other hand into his grasp.

"I love you, Ginny, did you know?" He sounded surprised, observed Ginny. She looked at him, slowly from ear to ear, and came back to his eyes, two bejeweled eyes, which stored a world. "I – whenever I've seen you, talked with you, it all comes back to the way you are . . . Gin." Harry's breath caught on the last syllable, a hiccup of air. He slowly took one hand off of her two and gently laid it on her cheek. Ginny did the same, was entranced. They sat together, heads coming closer and closer. Far behind them, on the dance floor, couples swayed and sighed, mindlessly catering the demands of a pensive song. Closer, people muttered and chattered, conversation unending. And between Ginny's pink face and Harry sweaty one was air, and only air, which was so kind enough to let their faces through to lean into a single kiss.


End file.
